


one day

by Chierei



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Christmas Eve, Domestic Fluff, Festive Cuteness, Fluff, Gen, Idiots in Love, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Snowball Fight
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-03
Updated: 2020-01-03
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:47:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22097377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chierei/pseuds/Chierei
Summary: It's Christmas Eve, and sometimes, nothing hurts. Oswald, Ed, and Martin spend the day doing what they do best: being a family.
Relationships: Oswald Cobblepot & Martin & Edward Nygma, Oswald Cobblepot/Edward Nygma
Comments: 17
Kudos: 96





	one day

**Author's Note:**

  * For [noctis_monstrum](https://archiveofourown.org/users/noctis_monstrum/gifts).



> Written for noctis_monstrum for the [Nygmobblepot Discord](https://discord.gg/nvgXPHk)'s Secret Santa Gift Exchange! Prompt was "anything nygmobs with festive cuteness. Bonus points for interactions with Martin and/or Lucius Fox." Sadly, no Lucius in this one, but I hope there is enough cuteness to compensate!

Oswald woke up with a start—the feeling of a hand on his shoulder, giving him a shake. He automatically went to reach for the knife on his nightstand before his brain caught up with him. He blearily opened his eyes to look into the grinning face of Martin, his brown curls in disarray and his notepad held up with a series of messy snowflakes scribbled over the paper.

“Martin?” he managed to say, rubbing away the sleep from his eyes as he struggled to sit up. “What is it?” Ed’s side of the bed had long since gone cold—not surprisingly, given that he had always been an early riser, which was a habit that Martin was clearly picking up if the time on the bedside clock was accurate.

Martin just held up his notepad again, nodding excitedly as he pointed to the window.

Oswald followed his finger and saw the grey and white sight that greeted him. “Oh, it’s snowing?” he said, hiding a smile at Martin’s excitement. “I guess we will have a white Christmas this year, won’t we?”

It had been just over a year since reunification and only a few months since he had been reunited with Martin at Ed’s insistence. Oswald had been reluctant to bring Martin back into the line of fire—every moment he spent at Oswald’s side, there was a target painted on his back—but the mansion had been so much brighter with him around.

Martin nodded excitedly before turning back to draw something new on the pad. He flipped it over to show what appeared to be eggs and bacon in a frying pan to indicate that breakfast was ready. The boy tugged a little insistently at Oswald’s arm, his curls coated in what appeared to be a dusting of flour, and Oswald’s didn’t bother to hide his smile. He pressed a kiss to the boy’s forehead, laughing a little at the pout it put on the boy’s face and the way he tugged a little harder on Oswald’s arm.

He ruffled Martin’s hair, swinging his legs off the bed and trying to hide the wince of pain in his leg. He had always loved winter as a child, but the cold weather made the pain hellish on some days. But he didn’t want to put a damper on Martin’s mood and smothered the urge to massage his ankle, instead putting on his slippers without complaint.

He limped his way downstairs, Martin tucked close to his side to act as a makeshift cane. Oswald hadn’t bothered to get dressed—Martin was also in his pajamas, which meant that Ed undoubtedly had done the same. Martin had gotten into the frankly adorable habit of copying Ed, and Oswald couldn’t deny that the sight of the two of them, looking more alike than seemed genetically possible, always warmed him.

The kitchen smelled divine even before Oswald made it to the open doorway. He was greeted by the sight of Ed, wrapped up in his green and gold flannel pajamas with a matching apron tied around his slim waist. His sleeves were pushed up to the elbow as he was carefully ladling thin batter into a sizzling pan.

His eyes lit up when he saw Oswald. “Ah,” he said with a toothy smile, “sleeping beauty awakes.”

Oswald tried not to blush but knew he had failed when the familiar heat crept up to his cheeks. Their relationship wasn’t new, per se, but he still sometimes felt like he was waiting to wake up from a dream.

Ed rushed around the counter to give Oswald a good morning kiss, one that lingered a little longer than appropriate given that Martin was standing right there. When Ed finally pulled away, Oswald felt sucked into looking into his warm brown eyes, shining, and it made Oswald want to bury his face in the man’s chest because his heart felt like it was going to burst.

So he deflected. “What are you cooking?” he asked, reaching down to give Edward the dog a pat on the head and scratch behind the ear that made the old bulldog give a little contented whine in response to.

“Well, since it’s Christmas Eve, I thought we’d have a little spread. Bacon and eggs, obviously, but I’m in the middle of making palacsintas as well. Which reminds me,” Ed said, stopping to turn to Martin who was staring at the sizzling bacon in the pan, prodding it with a long wooden spoon with all childish impatience. “Martin, will you set the table? And bring out all of the jams?”

Martin’s face lit up, and he nodded eagerly, the motion setting his curls bobbing.

They both watched as the boy hurried to obey, rustling through the drawers and cupboards for the plates and silverware before disappearing behind the entranceway to the dining room, arms laden with his finds.

Only once he was out of hearing range, did Ed turn more concerned eyes to Oswald. “How is your leg? The temperature dropped another ten degrees from yesterday.”

Oswald glowed from the concern Ed showed him. He leaned up to give Ed a quick, reassuring kiss, a silent thank you. “Hurts, but that’s nothing new,” Oswald said, leaning against the counter to remove some of the weight from the ruined ankle. He would have to have Ed retrieve his cane from the bedroom later, but he could manage his way around the kitchen and dining room in the meantime.

Ed hummed as he flipped the finished palacsinta onto a growing stack, both sides perfectly golden and looking mouth-watering. “I’ll heat up a warm compress for you after breakfast.”

Oswald didn’t answer, Martin having rushed back into the kitchen to rummage through the pantry for the various jars of jam and jelly, but the look he gave Ed said enough.

* * *

After breakfast, the three of them retired to the living room, warmed with the blazing fire, and each of them with a cup of hot chocolate cupped in their hands. Oswald didn’t know when Ed had found the time to make homemade marshmallows, but based on the number that Martin had shoved in his mouth when he thought no one was looking, Oswald would bet that there had been substantially more in the jar earlier this morning.

Oswald allowed Ed to slowly massage his leg under the plush blanket, alternating his hands and hot water bottle while he read a book. Martin sat at the windowsill, watching the heavy snowfall and occasionally scribbling in his notebook. Edward the dog was curled up against the boy’s lap, his head resting on his thigh as he begged for pets.

Oswald was just about to doze off when Martin came back toward them, Edward on his heels, and holding up his notepad for them to view. He had drawn three stick fingers, the two tall ones holding hands with the shorter one in the center, and all of them wearing hats and scarves. Oswald blinked a few times, trying to decipher what the boy wanted in his half-awake state. “Oh, you wanted to go for a walk?” he said. They had all been slowly learning to sign, but Martin was showing a reluctance to use it as a daily method of communication, and Oswald was loath to press the issue. As a result, he had gotten quite good at deciphering the boy’s drawings.

Martin nodded, but then deflated, not hiding the quick worried glance at Oswald’s leg that was still propped on Ed’s lap.

“A little walk can’t hurt,” Oswald said, ruffling his hair. He and his mother had never had the luxury of taking leisurely walks in the snow—they barely could keep warm enough in their meager apartment—but Oswald liked to imagine his parents taking similar turns around these very grounds in their youth. It would be a good memory and worth a little extra pain. “Go get dressed,” Oswald said with a little hand gesture to shoo him forward. “And don’t forget your scarf!” he called out to the boy’s back.

Barely twenty minutes later, all of them were bundled up in various coats and scarves. Even Edward had been wrangled into a red sweater with white trimming and a matching festive collar around his neck. Almost immediately, Martin grabbed Oswald’s and Ed’s hands as they started down the path, all of them taking a leisurely pace to allow Oswald to pick his way through the unsure footing. Edward the dog hobbled alongside them. His short legs and dubious attitude regarding the snow made him an even pace with Oswald’s careful strides.

The snow had slowed down to a comfortably drift, and Oswald couldn’t help but start humming. He wasn’t surprised when Ed joined in with soft vocals, garnering them both looks from Martin that only ended when Ed bent down to share a kiss.

“I never played much in the snow as a child,” Oswald explained, squeezing Martin’s hand as they rounded the bend to reach the back of the house where the greenhouses stood. There were a handful of actual plants in it, but it usually housed more dead bodies than anything alive. Sometimes, it would suddenly become teeming with life, though, and Oswald politely turned a blind eye to whatever Ivy was up to for those days. “But my mother used to play records during the winter, and we would sing along,” Oswald said. “My mother used to be a dancer, you see, but she loved to sing.”

Martin cocked his head, listening intently. His nose was already a little pink from the cold, and Oswald could see the snowflakes caught against his plush, navy hat. There was something to be said about talking about his mother like this, to share his memories of Gertrud with the two people that he was, tentatively, _fervently,_ seeing as his family.

Ed made a non-commital noise, swinging his arm that was linked with Martin’s. “I spent a lot of time outdoors,” he said, taking over talking, “even in the winter.”

There was an oddness to his tone, and Oswald could read between the lines—outdoors meant away from his father.

“So, did you know,” Ed continued, and the moment of melancholy passed quickly. Oswald didn’t bother hiding his smile at the mischievous grin on the Riddler’s face as he continued, “that snow is a great insulator? Some animals dig snow caves to use during hibernation as snow is composed of ninety to ninety-five percent trapped air. Since the air can’t move, it provides great insulation. It’s why snow houses, more colloquially known as igloos, exist as viable means of shelter and warmth.”

Oswald purposefully slowed his step until Ed unknowingly dropped Martin’s other hand, caught up in his ramble. Martin gave him a questioning look that Oswald answered with a playful finger to his lips—redundant given his audience, but it made the boy grin. They let Ed widen the distance between them, still talking to himself about the insulating properties of snow and the mechanics of igloo construction to the singular audience of a meandering pitbull who hadn’t bothered to break stride.

Oswald bent down as quietly as he could, forming a small snowball between his gloved hands. Martin’s eyes lit up as he caught onto what Oswald was planning, and his smile was positively devious.

Oswald held up three fingers, slowly counting down after they both had a sizeable ball of snow packed into each of their hands. Snowball fights had been another thing, so juvenile and oh-so-foreign, that Oswald couldn’t help but have longed for as a child. And there was no time like the present.

“Hey, Ed?” Oswald called out, voice full of innocence. Martin theatrically hid his own snowball behind his back.

“Hm?” Ed started to say, turning as he only just noticed that he was no longer accompanied by anyone other than the dog, still trotting loyally at his heels. “Wh—PFF.”

Oswald cackled at the flat face Ed made, his carefully crafted snowball lobbed with a perfect aim to hit the man square in the face. It had been even better than he had pictured—Ed’s mouth had been half open, and the snow clung to his cheeks and his glasses, and the sight sent Oswald into a fit of giggles.

Oswald gasped for breath, trying to speak between the laughs, only to almost scream at the feeling of cold, wet ice hitting his cheek. He was about to give a scandalized look to Ed only to catch Martin’s grin and his mysteriously missing snowball from his hand. “Martin!” Oswald said, affecting a betrayed look. “I thought we were on the same side!”

Martin grinned and giggled, running to hide behind Ed.

“Traitor!” Oswald said behind his smile, reaching back down to lob another, this time poorly aimed, snowball at his son who ducked unceremoniously behind Ed’s long legs which were the ultimate casualty. The next few minutes quickly devolved into an array of outraged gasps and giggles as the three of them scrambled in the snow and tossed increasingly ineffective snowballs at each other.

Martin ended up being a genuinely devious child, somehow managing to pit Ed and Oswald against each other for a handful of minutes before Ed finally scoped up a giggling Martin in his arms to toss into a snowdrift.

Oswald took a tired seat next to the laughing boy, rubbing his hair with fresh powder and ignoring the face the boy made in complaint at the cold. Oswald heard more than saw Ed take a seat on his opposite side, feeling his cold lips pepper Oswald’s neck with little kisses.

“Truce?” Ed murmured into Oswald’s hair.

Oswald tried to stamp down the bubble of giddiness that emerged from his chest, pretending that the heat in his cheeks was from the temperature and nothing more. Oswald turned his head to give Ed a proper kiss and didn’t answer.

Only to yelp when Martin, the little devil, took the opportunity to shove a handful of snow down each of their backs.

* * *

After, Ed had rushed the three of them (plus a very lazy bulldog) back into the mansion, ordering a full change of clothes before any of them got sick. Oswald would have customarily rolled his eyes at Ed’s mother henning, but the addition of Martin to his life had made his protective instincts return. He hurriedly made sure that the boy was swaddled back into a clean, warm pair of flannel pajamas—this time, a pair that was a silver-blue color and decorated by ice-skating penguins that were a joke-not-joke gift from Barbara.

By the time the pair made it back down to the living room, Ed was, predictably, as prim and proper as he could be. His cheeks were still tinged red from the temperature change, but his hair was slicked back from his forehead like Oswald secretly loved with his glasses perched on his nose.

The day passed in an almost euphoric daze. It was almost...picturesque. The type of Christmas Eve that Oswald used to watch on the half-broken television set that he’d never tell his mother about because she tried so hard to make the holidays special—but the reality had been that winters were the hardest on their finances, and elaborate celebrations had never been in the cards. Oswald had contented himself with curling up with a watered-down mug of hot chocolate with his mother on Christmas Eve, listening to their aging record collection and watching re-runs of cheesy sitcoms. By the time Oswald had started working for Ms. Mooney, he had spent most of the holiday season working the extra hours. And then by the time he had been comfortable enough that finances were no longer a problem…

Well.

But this day had been like a dream. It was like Ed had plucked it from his childhood fantasies—everything from a warm breakfast to the snow and the cases of Christmas tree decorations that he had somehow unearthed from the basement of the Van Dahl mansion.

“My mother,” Ed had explained when Oswald walked into their living room to see it filled with a large evergreen that had decidedly not been there that morning, “that you never decorate a Christmas tree before Christmas Eve. Actually, did you know—”

Oswald pulled him down for a kiss before the man could start another ramble. He could already see Martin rustling through some of the boxes, carefully removing decorations that were probably older than the boy’s age from their tissue paper trappings.

Not that all of the decorations were actually from the Van Dahl trove, they quickly discovered. There were far too many penguins and question mark motifs in the piles for it to be a coincidence, and Oswald had watched as Ed had pulled out a small ornament, two small wooden blocks with the initials E.N. painted on the outer face and the edges rounded and discolored from years of oily fingers. He didn’t make a comment as he watched Ed cradle it in his palm, his face a curiously impassive mask despite the gentleness of his hands. Oswald found it later, nestled slightly higher on the tree and half-hidden in the branches, and didn’t ask.

Oswald watched as Ed helped Martin place the star—gold and green, of course—onto the top of the tree, the boy hoisted onto the taller man’s shoulders and their skin glowing in the firelight. His heart warmed at the sight of the two of them. Sometimes, if Oswald forgot himself, it felt like—

He cut the thought off. But he couldn’t help but let them wander back as he thought about the small bundle of papers tucked in a manilla envelope in his desk, all three of their names written in careful black ink and just awaiting the final signatures. He hadn’t broached the topic with Ed, wasn’t sure if he ever would. He was Martin’s legal guardian, but he knew he had thought of the boy as his _son_ since, well, probably soon after he had first seen the boy trying to light another kid’s backpack on fire. And he wanted, _oh god_ he wanted, Martin to be his son—no, he wanted Martin to be _their_ son.

One day, he told himself, looking at their twin grins and matching dark mops of curls. One day.

* * *

_Tucked in a drawer, somewhere, there was a small velvet box hidden behind blueprints and wires, and Ed, too, thought: one day._

  
_Art by[iamClarex2.](https://twitter.com/iamClarex2)_

**Author's Note:**

> So this was 100% just an excuse to write the fluffiest fluff fluff that you could ever fluff. So, uh, enjoy? <3
> 
> Thank you to all my readers who have stuck with me this year! This has been an amazing year for me writing-wise, and I couldn't have done it without every single one of my readers. <3 Please don't hesitate to drop me a line, whether here or on [Tumblr](chierei.tumblr.com) or Discord, to ramble/scream/etc. <3


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